Watching their indolence


Carrying their own comfort, the long-haired cats,
One part Maine-coon, the other Persian perhaps,
In languor laze atop the covered Jacuzzi,
Feeling for more warmth from under them
As if their coats were not enough, they preen
And with eyes half-closed seem to unfocus time
As if they alone know the secret to sensuality,
Letting an idle paw stretch out occasionally
To stir and yawn. In their torporific dream
They diffuse my pain, or at least I envy them
Such sublimity as within themselves no need
To twist a gut, to know the cramps my belly owns
As all is a fur ball, round, like wool cocooned,
A world where even silence hums their tune.

Is it self hypnosis as might come
From years of gazing at winter flames
That dance a name of hearth and home
And might I also find a way to claim
Such a sensate longed-for opium?

Source: Watching their indolence


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